


like silk, like milk, secret talk: songfic collection

by ootajins (verdantspace)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Fusion, Blood and Gore, Gen, Immortality, Religious Conflict, Songfic, high&low au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdantspace/pseuds/ootajins
Summary: a collection of yama-centric drabbles and/or fic ideas and their corresponding audio aesthetics. title taken from maliya’sskin.1) college au: artsy!ohno & delinquent sho, meet-cute.2) high&low au: rude boys! ohno & an intruder.3) immortals au: heavily inspired by the old guard. set in 1600s japan.
Relationships: Ohno Satoshi/Sakurai Sho
Kudos: 9





	1. college au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur absolutely lying if u said u’ve never _once_ thought abt a yama college au featuring delinquent!sho/artsy!ohno who seem like complete opposites of each other but somehow? they make it work c:

songfic: [cariño](https://open.spotify.com/track/55DyBUkjebkcYhDGfEXitR) \- the marías

_ eres una obra de arte _

“i’m sho,” he says easily, airily, and satoshi’s brain works to determine the chime of his voice. C3, he eventually decides,  _ or maybe lower? _

satoshi can’t be sure. it almost feels like he’s been deprived of the higher function of his brain, so he settles with what he can do.

he takes in the sight.

sho might have been a sandstorm descending upon Burj Khalifa’s landscape, the way he takes over satoshi’s field of vision and blurs everything else. he’s a burst of colors — forest fire in his hair, ivory on his skin, pink poppies on his cheeks, and pomegranate on his lips. vivid as the palette Matisse favored upon his canvas.

“oh?” sho says— _ sings, _ satoshi amends. a lilting, hoarsely delivered A3 that resonates in the thrum of satoshi’s veins. “baby boy lost his tongue?”

it takes a while for satoshi to realize that by  _ baby boy, _ sho meant  _ him. _ eloquently, he answers, “um.”

sho seems to find humor in that. he starts to laugh, something distinct and melodic and full-bodied. a jumble of notes finds harmony in the sound, interchangeable and  _ impossible _ to determine, though satoshi diligently combs through the melody just to find something else to focus on.

making use of the lapse in satoshi’s reaction, sho strides forward and slides confident hands on his shoulders. the hands sneak higher to finally settle on the back of satoshi’s neck, robbing him of movement and speech all at the same time.

_ just like jailors from the tales of seamen, _ satoshi ponders absently. ones who trap unsuspecting men with arias falling from their lips and black pearls in their eyes.

“cute,” his jailor — sho — purrs. satoshi feels the weight of fingers on the back of his neck too acutely.

in an attempt to relieve himself of eye contact, satoshi’s gaze drops to sho’s clothes. he's clad in a combination of cropped shirt, black skinny jeans, combat boots, and— oh.

satoshi hadn’t noticed the stars on his clothes; little star-shaped patches tacked neatly onto the fabric of his shirt. he reckons he can’t be blamed because he’s been too focused on the ones residing in sho’s eyes.

“cute, gorgeous, pretty boy,” sho calls, breaking the silence and effectively returning satoshi’s attention to him. with a questioning tilt of his head, sho extends his offer. “wanna be my baby?”

it’s a request satoshi fails to comprehend in his current state of mind. sho’s mere presence is akin to a pull; gravitational and inevitable, and satoshi can’t resist the way he falls and keeps falling,  _ falling— _

—until reflexes kick in and his hands find purchase on the dip of sho’s waist. halfway through a trance, satoshi continues to hold on tightly, unaware of the gasp that tumbles out of sho’s mouth.

“i,” satoshi begins, only to succumb to silence when he acknowledges his inability to string words together.

sho makes a sound of confusion, so satoshi braves a cautious glance to peer into his eyes. he can’t possibly know what sho sees, but a solemn kind of realization settles on his visage. it mellows the perpetual twinkle in his eyes and softens the curve of his mouth, making him seem more— mundane. more  _ human, _ rather than some creature that belongs in a mural on the ceilings of old chapels.

a hand finds its perch on satoshi’s cheek, warm and gentle. sho’s touch is strangely familiar, but there’s hesitance in the way he slides closer. it’s a complete opposite of the confident demeanor he had been exhibiting, a self-conscious gesture that paints a private smile on satoshi's lips. so he stays silent and doesn’t deny him.

“...are you sure?” he asks. satoshi has never been afraid of the unknown, so he gives his answer in the form of a hum. a quiet confirmation.

“hmm,” sho voices out, settling more comfortably in satoshi’s now loose embrace. “you’ll regret so much, y’know.”

at that, satoshi smiles. with as much conviction that he can muster, he counters with: “that’s for me to decide.”

sho’s answering laugh is a joyful sound, caught between surprise and delight. satoshi can feel the vibration of it through the points of contact, and his own smile doubles its size. sho’s laughter is a song of its own, and satoshi listens avidly.

no more words are exchanged as they share a quaint space, something small and exciting and uniquely theirs. fellow students begin to file into the corridors, but satoshi pays them no mind.

sho breathes him in, and satoshi revels in the way they find sustenance in each other’s air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted a yama meet-cute ok. and chorister!ohno. he’d emit the baby boyest energy hh i (sho too) just wanna CUDDLE. also that Burj Khalifa line has been on my mind since.....mi: ghost protocol hit the theatres. don’t ask but it’s so good to finally let it out :"))
> 
> [cariño mv](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHVp9xiUr9U).


	2. high&low au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ldh uploaded the entire h&l filmography on yt n when i rewatched some scenes i shed a lot of tears thinkin abt how satoshi would effortlessly fit into rude boys’ aesthetics.

songfic: [sparkle](https://open.spotify.com/track/6dQbhe9Wzckg67q7Dh7HzC) \- iri 

弾けて空にばらまいて 風に運ばれたくらいで泣かないって

satoshi loves to fly. he loves the freedom it gives; how his senses seem to get elevated along with his standpoint. he especially loves it when autumn comes along. when the days are shorter and the clouds shy away from obstructing his view of the sky.

it stretches as far as the eyes can see, a vibrant shade of blue that _begs_ for satoshi’s embrace.

physiologically, humans aren’t fit to fly, but satoshi didn’t let it hinder him. he discovered the way to soar despite his limitations, and then shared the knowledge with his family. they may not have a bird’s light, hollow bones and their lungs are subordinate in comparison, but satoshi surmounted all odds and attached a pair of wings to rude boys’ back, making them the only scouting team to be feared for their swift and effective aerial assaults.

_no one flies the ways you do, satoshi-san!_ the younger, more passionate members of rude boys would exclaim. _it's like you've sprouted wings, the way you soar in the sky. so cool!_

satoshi usually articulates his response with a smile and slinks back into the background. they mostly let him off, if they’re not in a worshipping mood.

not that he doesn’t enjoy his teammates’ company; there’s nothing more precious to him than this family he’s found in the unlikeliest of places. he just doesn’t know how to deal with the pedestal they’ve put him on.

rude boys is the embodiment of satoshi’s visions. not so much his dreams because he’d let go of the ludicrous notion long ago, but he can't deny the fullness that overwhelms his chest every time he sees his brothers and sisters flip and surge in the air, jumping from one place to another with an effortlessness telling of their rigorous training.

_the technique is called parkour, ojisan._ ninomiya from oya koukou told him once, but satoshi dislikes boxing their way of life under a designated label, so he doesn't.

satoshi lifts a hand to feel the wind. it comes as though to answer his call, twirling gently around his fingers.

the wind never blows violently in the streets they live in. mumeigai — the nameless streets — is famous for its calm weather, regardless of the season. satoshi likes to think the wind has been tamed by rude boys’ continuous conquers of the sky, so that it never blows in opposition to their flight. always ready to carry their bodies, breezing gently in calm surrender.

which also means mumeigai is fraught with ideal nap spots.

the only thing to rival satoshi’s fondness of flying is taking naps. he often jumps to some of mumeigai's highest points, securing a place to obtain some hours of peace and blissful ignorance to whatever is happening down below.

yet stolen moments operate on a time limit; once it expires, there’s no way to sidestep the consequences. today’s consequence arrives in the form of a singsong voice, raspy and familiar.

“foooound you,” the voice trills, playful and dreadful. with it comes the smell of cedarwood, overpowering the musty scent of mumeigai’s tender wind.

satoshi keeps the pretense of sleep and doesn’t open his eyes, unwilling to give form to the voice and the scent. briefly, he entertains the idea of coercing the newcomer away through sheer ignorance, but it’s to no avail.

the presence only breezes closer, clad in a wave of errant heat in the peak of fall. there’s shuffling all around satoshi's prone form, the noise akin to a child skipping about brambles and ravines.

“hmm, is he asleep?” the voice lilts obnoxiously, “is he? is he?” satoshi curls further into himself in an attempt to block the sound, but he can still hear the intruder hum a sound of contemplation. “aw, he’s not waking up. perhaps i should snuggle up next to him. ohno-san looks warm.”

icicle flowers bloom in satoshi’s veins at the image.

slowly and reluctantly, satoshi opens his eyes and sees the fluttering wings of a scarlet ibis. he blinks once, twice; adjusting. as the mirage blurs into reality, red seeps unbidden into his vision.

a red pendant hanging from a white neck. smirking red lips. gone are the pair of wings, replaced by the sleeves of a signature red _happi._ they flap boldly against the sky, threatening to cut through satoshi's beloved blue.

“ohno-san,” the owner of the voice addresses him directly. a face peers down at him, amusement and anticipation splashed all over its dips and ridges. “good afternoon. i’ve been looking for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...kudos to u if u can tell which scouting team the _intruder_ is in👀
> 
> [sparkle mv](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2lrXYmpi7w).


	3. immortals au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> immortals au. heavily inspired by the old guard, both the movie and the graphic novel. set in japan during the 1600s, when the ~~purist assholes~~ shogunate issued an anti-christian edict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yo i wanna write smth for yama’s day  
> my brain: what abt depressing gory shit :3  
> me: nO—
> 
> srsly tho thank u @ the old guard for this Glorious ‘verse.
> 
> warnings for: **_blood, gore, murder, religious themes._** it’s not within my intention to insult and/or show bias for certain religions and/or beliefs, but let’s all keep in mind that ppl used to slay one another in the name of god(s). we still do, sadly.

songfic: [1,000,000 TIMES](https://open.spotify.com/track/3dVMeI08Of33bjSELmtSqq?si=H54zTjjdS3e4bOb8EXdbqQ) feat. chelly (EGOIST) - MY FIRST STORY

名もなき詩を響かせた  
本当の祈りに「今」手を伸ばしてる

satoshi was not a talkative young man, but he was raised to be polite in his quietude. 

“have mercy on me, o god,  
according to your unfailing love;  
according to your great compassion  
blot out my transgressions.”

he was taught by his mother to be mindful of what he said. he was taught by his father never to interrupt someone’s speech. theirs wasn’t the most prosperous or respected family among his lordship’s retainers, but satoshi held his parents and their teachings to the highest of honor, vowing to walk the path they had paved with perseverance and patience.

“wash away all my iniquity  
and cleanse me from my sin.  
for i know my transgressions,  
and my sin is always before me.”

thus, he never interrupted anyone’s speech. he was respectful. he was mindful. he wanted to be the pride of his family. his heart _ached_ to please his parents, even more now that the afterlife had claimed them.

perhaps it was why he let the demon ramble on. though only a hair’s breadth away from pressing his blade into the yielding flesh of the demon’s neck, satoshi held still. made peace with the discomfort that came with holding his position: astride the demon’s prone, unresisting form. listening to the words spilling from that red mouth.

“surely i have been a sinner from birth,  
sinful from the time my mother conceived me…  
cleanse me with hyssop, and i will be clean;  
wash me and i will be whiter than— whiter than…”

the demon stumbled. his eyes flickered, darting around as if searching for something behind satoshi’s back. for some moments unaccounted for, his gaze never strayed from the ceiling, above which the sky spread far and wide, an azure blue one couldn’t find within the gash of gloom of the demon’s holding cell.

satoshi almost forgot that it was the daytime. he was never tasked to kill the demon after dusk, because the priests believed the darkness would fuel the demon’s powers. the order fit satoshi just fine, because he needed the sun’s unflinching heat to lend movement to his limbs, lest he failed to make the deciding blow.

satoshi took every shift on the demon’s face into account, watching as a film of moisture settled on the pair of big, obsidian eyes. the corners of them turned red, and satoshi expected tears to escape their confines anytime soon.

except that it never came. instead, the demon’s mouth moved with renewed vehemence — _or was it desperation?_ — vigorous enough to land spittles of saliva on the front of satoshi’s robes.

“create in me a pure heart, o god,  
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.  
do not cast me from your presence, ”

the demon breathed in. and then out. the air around them was too stifling to allow a deep, fulfilling breath, but it seemed to appease whatever hunger plagued the demon’s lungs. when he next spoke, he was looking right into satoshi’s eyes.

“or take your holy spirit from—”

satoshi interrupted his speech, then; not without a heartfelt apology to his parents’ spirits.

before the demon could finish reciting his spell, satoshi thrust his blade into his exposed jugular. flesh resisted, and then muscles, but satoshi cut through them with a clever twist of the wrist. blood spurted forth, like water from a spring. red, the color his lordship insisted to be the demon’s moniker.

it was a fast, effective kill. the demon made wet, pitiful sounds that lasted a moment, until silence laid to rest the last of his struggles.

it took over satoshi, too. made him think of the road he’d had traversed to arrive at this point. 

satoshi was not — as of yet — the most skilled among his fellow apprentices, but he’d had plenty of practice with the demon. he used to be a fledgling slayer during the first few times, failing to kill swiftly and effectively, oftentimes left with grotesque remains of his own doing. the sight and smell had often pushed forth an ugly expulsion of vomit through satoshi’s throat, covering the demon’s corpse as if it wasn’t already slathered with enough grievance.

yet after months of the same dance, satoshi had developed an aptitude for killing with jaded ease. conversely, the demon had eventually ceased to fight back, worn-down and made weak by the bondage around his limbs and dignity. feeding to the illusion that the demon’s body couldn't resist satoshi anymore. him, and the judgment brought forth by the arc of his blade.

it was satoshi's turn to heave a breath. now that the demon brought into their sacred soil by the wicked christians had been slain, came the part satoshi dreaded and anticipated in equal measure.

the waiting.

he had forsaken counting some weeks ago, because the crux of the demon’s spell — the _miracle_ — always occurred by the fourteenth count.

within the haze of red, the demon returned. blinking lights of life made themselves known in his previously void eyes, like newly-born stars. he began coughing out blood; not as a sign of impending demise, but to rid his oral cavity of the bitter, sticky substance. he seemed in pain, but he was profanely, miraculously _alive._

satoshi waited for the coughing fit to cease before he spoke.

“‘or take your holy spirit from me.’”

the demon's eyes went big, round as marbles. satoshi smiled down at him, a peculiar mirth settling on his expression.

“the rest of your spell,” satoshi supplied. in a practiced move, he cleaned and sheathed his _tantou._ slipped it into his clothes.

“it is a _prayer,_ ” the demon corrected, breaking the silence satoshi had expected from him. his features, currently fixed on satoshi’s own with unsettling intensity, bore confusion, but not ire. “you remember.”

it wasn't posed as a question, but satoshi nodded, nonetheless. “i do.”

knowing that satoshi was done with his duty, for the time being, they cloaked an odd sort of silence around their persons. interlinked through their gazes, unwavering but feeble. the eyes spoke of the truth, but neither had any inclination what theirs was.

so they merely stared at one another, simmering in the unknown.

the immortal demon dressed in the red of his own blood, and his beholder.

time would move again, would trickle past their moment and announced its victory upon this race, but until then, it seemed to halt. as though waiting for the next fourteenth count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m too lazy to write a full thing but yes i hc yama as immortals who found e/o in the unlikeliest of circumstances. in the present day they’d be full-blown immortal husbands: shameless pda by day, lethal mercenaries working in the shadows by night.
> 
> sho’s prayer is taken from psalm 51 (king david version).
> 
> also a psa: stream [the old guard](https://www.netflix.com/id-en/title/81038963) on netflix✌️ the female energy!!!! the representation!!!! good fuckin food
> 
> i’m on [twt](https://twitter.com/akanosumizumi).


End file.
